Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

  Then his lips broke away, they trailed down her cheek, her jaw and he buried his face in her neck, the whole time, making gentle love to her.

  “What am I going to do with you?” His voice sounded disgruntled in her ear.

  “Whatever you want.”

  This brought another croaky moan from him, his arms wrapping around her, his hands lifting her hips to receive him.

  Her neck arched again as her body melted further into his, wrapping itself tightly around him, everywhere.

  “Why do you want to go?” His voice was still at her ear and she shuddered, loving the depth of it, his accent, he had such a beautiful voice.

  “You came down and… did what you did in my room and then you left me alone.” Her arms tightened around him and she whispered, “Douglas, I’m so tired of being alone.” She pressed her hips against him and he ground his against her.

  “You don’t have to be alone.”

  “I’m always alone.” Her voice was an ache.

  His hips were moving faster, pressing harder, she melted further into him, tightened around him.

  “Julia,” his breath was shallow, “I’ll not let you go.” He drove into her, not gentle now, his heat was overwhelming her and her head reared up, her face burying itself in his neck.

  “You have to,” she whispered into his ear, knowing he was struggling, knowing that she was close but he wanted her to finish before him. “Let go, sweetheart,” she urged but he held back, moving faster, driving deeper and she went closer. “Douglas,” she breathed and he gave it to her, her lips opened against his skin where she moaned as the pleasure rippled through her.

  Julia came down, dropping her head to the bed and Douglas lifted his, his eyes locked with hers and she held her breath at the look in their dark depths before he rammed into her hard, twice, and then his head jerked back and she saw the chords and veins standing out in his neck as he climaxed inside her.

  For some reason, she thought watching Douglas lose control while he was buried inside her was the most beautiful sight she ever beheld and she allowed herself to glory in the fact that she could give that to him, the fierce, powerful, handsome Douglas Ashton.

  She lifted her head to run her tongue along his neck as she slid her fingers in his thick hair.

  He collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the bed and she welcomed it, holding him tight to her with all four limbs. His breath was coming fast then but after it slowed, he shifted himself so that he wasn’t fully resting on her but he didn’t move away.

  His lips brushed hers, feather light.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I meant to give you something.” He was talking about before, in her room and she knew it was the closest she’d get to an apology. She nodded and his hands came back to her face, rubbing the place where the tears had been.

  “If you ever leave,” his voice had changed from soft to harsh, “I’ll find you and bring you back.”

  She felt her stomach lurch and she didn’t know if it was with fear or happiness.

  She made no reply, there didn’t need to be one with that kind of promise. She simply stared at him.

  He moved suddenly, reaching out to his side and jerking down the covers. He rolled them both towards the pillows, finally disengaging from her. Then he carefully righted their position on the bed, settled her at his side and yanked the covers back over them.

  “I can’t sleep here, Douglas, the children –”

  “If you leave,” he repeated, “I’ll find you and bring you back.”

  She didn’t know what else to say because she knew he’d be true to his promise.

  It was a Douglas she’d never known before. She’d been used to his calm but now she’d heard him roar, she heard him tease and she’d heard such harshness in his tone that it felt like it was both shredding her heart and mending it at the same time.

  After what happened that night, she didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But she fell asleep with her body held closely against his side, her head on his chest, all the while thinking of his forehead pressed to hers and that unbelievably tender kiss.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Christmas

  Julia found out quickly that Douglas’s next line of attack would be what could only be described as a “tender onslaught” mixed with “not-so-tender onslaught” both of which were very effective even if she’d be damned if she’d let him know it.

  It started the very next morning after the night he’d made love to her.

  He woke her by running a finger lightly down her spine, her eyelids fluttered open to see him sitting on the side of the bed watching her with sexy, hooded eyes.

  He was fully dressed wearing a grey suit with a vermillion shirt and a matching vermillion tie that had grey and blue designs patterned on it.

  “What time is it?” she grumbled sleepily.

  He bent and kissed her shoulder. “Time enough for you to get to your own bed before the children wake,” he muttered against her skin.

  That got her attention. She whirled and sat bolt upright and in a frenzy, threw the covers back. Dodging his body, she jumped out of the bed. She located her panties, tugged them on quickly and, without a backward glance, began to dart out of the room.

  It occurred to her belatedly she should mark the occasion with something, lest he get the wrong idea. She stopped halfway to the door and turned back.

  “Don’t read anything into last night, that was last night and now is… well, now,” she finished lamely.

  He stood slowly and surveyed her with a curiously intense expression.

  “Nothing’s changed,” she warned.

  He watched her a moment and then the intensity faded from his eyes and warmth filled them.

  Warmth from Douglas was something else Julia wasn’t used to and something she found excruciatingly hard to resist.

  When he spoke, his voice was amused, “I figured that.”

  She ignored his warmth, his tone, gave one curt nod and escaped.

  He was gone most of the day on business. It was the day before Christmas Eve and the children were already beginning to let their excitement override their common sense. It took all her time to finish up her Christmas chores, break up their arguments and deal with what would essentially be three days without Mrs. K (who would be coming for Christmas dinner, but as a guest).

  Douglas arrived home for supper and joined them, having shed his jacket and tie. Then, after the pudding dishes were whisked away by Mrs. K, Julia settled in the lounge with the children to watch a Christmas DVD when Douglas strolled in, holding a sheaf of typed papers that had black scrawling all over them.

  She looked closely at the papers and saw it was her business plan.

  His eyes met hers. “If you have a moment, Julia, I’d like to discuss this with you.”

  She stared at the papers, unable to mask her horror.

  “You’ve marked all over it,” she whispered.

  “Ten minutes,” he said, his tone gentle.

  From the marks she figured it would take ten hours but like a doomed man heading to the gallows, she followed him to his study.

  He sat at his desk and she stood opposite.

  “It’ll be hard for you to see from there,” he commented, quirking an arrogant brow.

  She glared at him, already beside herself with curiosity that was mingled with hesitation warring with the feeling that she did not want to spend any more time alone with him than was absolutely necessary.

  She didn’t trust him, not one bit.

  But curiosity won out and with an undignified sigh, she walked around the desk and stood at his side.

  He immediately began to explain his notes, using his Mont Blanc pen to indicate bold scratching and what they meant to her passages, patiently explaining what he wrote and why.

  She found, against her will, that she was fascinated by what he had to say. He was very clever, thorough and intuitive. Despite herself, she leaned forward, bending at the hips t
o rest her elbows on his desk.

  Finally, unable to hide her enthusiasm, she became fully engrossed, leaned into him, grabbed the pen out of his hand and started to write her own notes around his as he talked. Their heads were bent together over the document barely an inch apart.

  When they came to the last page, she underlined (twice) a particularly salient concluding point and, lost in the pleasure of the work, turned her head to smile at him.

  “This is brilliant,” she complimented him, unable to stop herself.

  “It was very good before I started,” he replied, his eyes hooded but her mind was still fully consumed by the document.

  “Thank you,” she replied, dismissing a compliment that, since it came from Douglas (who she knew had a very astute head for business), was very dear indeed.

  Before she could turn her head away, he caught her chin in his hand and leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers in sweet, but hard, kiss.

  Her body instantly froze but she had no time to have any further reaction as a sound came from the door.

  Julia tore her chin out of his hand and shot upright.

  Lizzie was standing at the door.

  “Sorry,” their niece started to retreat then came back in a rush of two steps, a tentative grin settling on her face. She grabbed the doorknob and declared helpfully, “I’ll just close the –”

  “Lizzie-babe, there’s no need,” Julia said but the door already closed with a snap.

  In a dither (an actual dither), Julia grabbed the papers and started to move away. She halted, twirled and stammered, “Um, thanks Douglas… for this… it’s good.”

  He had come to his feet and was watching her, his eyes actually dancing mischievously.

  Dancing. Mischievously.

  At his expression, she wanted to scream or throw herself into his arms. Instead she forced herself to start to leave again and noticed she still had his pen so she rushed back and held it out to him.

  “Keep it,” he said, not looking at the pen, instead looking in her eyes.

  “But it’s an expensive pen.”

  He shrugged. “I have others.”

  She ignored him, placed it carefully on the desk and fled the room.

  The next day, Christmas Eve, she had no time to worry about Douglas as she was too worried about the children. Tammy and Gav always made Christmas a very special day for the kids and Julia wanted to be on her guard just in case they lapsed into the same melancholy that she felt edging every moment of her day.

  They seemed to cope well with Willie and even Lizzie doing their best to stay jolly and Patricia helped by calling and making everyone laugh. They sat around most of the day, watching Christmas DVDs and eating. Julia made them homemade pizza for dinner, Douglas joined them finally and they all ate the pizza while watching Gavin’s favourite movie, White Christmas.

  It took a great deal of time settling them into bed and Julia didn’t want to start her Santa preparations until she was certain that Ruby was well asleep. The girl got up three times, coming down to check things out, rubbing her eyes in pretence and saying she was thirsty, she heard a noise and then trying the thirsty route again. The final time, Douglas came out of his study and took her up himself, which was a stroke of pure genius as Ruby was unlikely to leave a bed that Douglas firmly tucked her into.

  Finally safe to start, Julia began collecting the extra Christmas presents, stocking stuffers and the boxes her mother had sent that she had hidden in her rooms and Mrs. K had secreted away in various places in the house. She thought about preparing Christmas herself but it would take forever and she had a long day tomorrow. Surely the children would be up early and she had a lot of cooking to do as she had invited Mr. and Mrs. K, Ronnie and Nick to Christmas Dinner (Carter had gone to his daughter’s place in Devon for the holiday).

  Douglas had not said a word about his servants being invited to dinner, merely nodded his head when she suggested it and said distractedly, “You’ve the running of the house, Julia.”

  Nick had no qualms about it, of course, but the Kilpatricks and Ronnie seemed somewhat shy, although also delighted about the idea.

  She went to search for Douglas as he was her only hope of getting the presents sorted and getting to bed at a halfway decent hour. She could not find him anywhere and realised with chagrin that he’d most likely already retired.

  With leaded feet, she approached the door to his rooms and then knocked softly, not wanting to awaken the children.

  She gasped when it was thrown open almost immediately.

  He stood there wearing his jeans and the khaki v-neck sweater he’d worn that day but his feet were bare.

  His eyes warmed immediately when he saw her.

  “Julia,” was all he said.

  Not wanting him to get the wrong impression, she rushed in with an explanation. “I was hoping you’d help me play Santa.”

  His damned eyebrow lifted.

  She gave him a mutinous look.

  “Ruby still believes and we have to get the stockings stuffed and Santa’s presents laid out…” she looked at his feet, “you’ll need your shoes.”

  He looked at his feet then at her and didn’t say a word.

  She lost her nerve, deciding instantly she could do it alone even if it took all night, and blurted, “It’s okay if you don’t want to help, I’ll do it myself.” And she whirled and escaped, going as fast as her feet could take her.

  He found her in the back hallway, dragging a huge bag filled with wrapped presents. Without a word, he reached around her and hefted it up as if it weighed no more than a pencil, turned and walked away.

  She noticed he was wearing shoes.

  She ran to her rooms to get more.

  Once they had all the stuff in the library where the tree was and where the children had decided they wanted Christmas, he stood there dubiously eyeing the bags and boxes filled to overflowing and the vast piles of presents already under the tree.

  “This is ridiculous,” Douglas stated correctly. It looked like Santa and his whole workshop of elves had exploded in the room.

  “Mom and I wanted to make sure that –” Julia started to explain as she took the stockings from the mantel.

  “I understand,” he murmured, interrupting her, and she fell silent because he sounded like he understood, very much.

  As she worked, she began to realise he seemed at odds as to what to do. He likely never played Santa before and she gently gave him directions which he carried out without hesitation.

  Feeling strange that they were doing this joyful business in complete silence, she asked, “What were your Christmases like?”

  “What do you mean?” He was putting an orange in the toe of each stocking.

  “Did you have stockings like this or pillowcases at the end of your bed?” she inquired, suddenly very curious about what his childhood was like.

  Tamsin never spoke of her childhood, at least not to Julia. Julia knew that Tamsin worked herself into exhaustion putting every ounce of magic into Christmas that she could stuff into it and she figured Tammy was holding up a tradition (even if it was hard to envision Monique stuffing a stocking, it wasn’t hard to envision her ordering Mrs. K to do so).

  “Neither,” Douglas replied and Julia’s hand stilled in the process of following him along the stockings tipping into them the American Christmas chocolates her mother had sent.

  “Neither?” she stared at him confused.

  Douglas didn’t answer.

  Julia tried again. “Did you open your presents Christmas Eve or Christmas morning?”

  Finished with the oranges, he started to sort the presents in a box marked “Stocking Stuffers”.

  “We received our present at dinner.”

  His tone invited no further questioning but she was too stunned by this strange piece of information to let it slide. What did he mean, “present”, in singular, and whoever heard of a child getting one present at dinner?

  Thinking he didn’t unde
rstand her question, she clarified, “No, I mean when you were children.”

  He continued his work, seeming engrossed in it.

  “At dinner,” was all he said.

  An uneasy feeling stole through her. Even Monique (who was, thankfully, taking the holiday with friends in Munich) could not be so cold as to give her children one present at Christmas dinner.

  She pressed on. “What was your favourite present ever?”

  “My father gave me some stock in Microsoft. I made a fortune on it.”

  She gasped, she couldn’t stop herself. “When you were a child, your parents gave you stock for your Christmas present?”

  Douglas shrugged, completely calm, he began to stuff the sorted presents in the stockings. “Every year. Practical and long-lasting.”

  These words slammed into Julia like sledgehammers.

  Christmas presents were not meant to be practical and long-lasting. They were meant to be impractical and no parent was allowed to get angry if the child broke them or lost interest in them before New Year’s. It was Christmas Law.

  She had no idea if those sentiments were Douglas’s, his mother’s or his father’s.

  Julia had met Douglas’s father, a charming man who was always absently kind to Julia and who adored his daughter obviously. Julia always felt that Tamsin hadn’t returned his adoration. That, for some reason, there was an intangible unpleasantness underlying this and she was always too uncomfortable (considering her own relationship with her father) to ask her sister-in-law about it.

  For Douglas’s part, he and his father seemed to tolerate each other but were obviously not close. Julia had always put it down to Douglas’s reserve and what she thought was the way of aristocratic families. She’d never much thought of it. Maxwell Ashton had been a far sight friendlier than Monique but he had died a few years after Tammy and Gav’s wedding and Julia had never really come to know him.

  Julia was no longer working, just watching Douglas as he went about this new business diligently. She realised with surprise, rising alarm and a sense of tenderness, that Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne was uncomfortable.